


Winter Light

by Trefoil_9



Series: Undertale Flash Fictions [12]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Asexual Character, Gen, Grillster, It doesn't come up in this fic unless you look really close, M/M, Shirtless, The Shirtless Scene(TM), Watching Someone Sleep, casual sleep creepin' on your slave, creepy elements on the backburner, grillstery elements and emotional manipulation elements, kinda sorta alternate fantasy Nazis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 09:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13610112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trefoil_9/pseuds/Trefoil_9
Summary: Gaster muses on his relationship with Kip and sees something he doesn't think he was supposed to. [Snowflower affiliated.]





	Winter Light

His Companion was starved for sun. He could tell by the little suggestion of smile that touched his face when the sun came out from behind clouds and every surface in the sunroom shone, and by the way he picked out sunny spots to rest in. He’d dragged one of the armchairs directly into the sunlight where it fell from one of the sitting room windows to curl up there, basking in the winter sunlight like a cat. When Gaster found him like that he was always amazed at how boneless he looked. Did he have a skeleton, or did he support himself with pure force of will manifesting in some little-understood biological process that kept his body firm when awake, but let it slump into the chair like an abandoned heavy quilt blanket when asleep?  
There was something compelling about such a deep state of relaxation. Gaster wished he could share in it. He hardly seemed to sleep anymore, except when he didn’t want to. Once his head had slumped forward over his notes while he was writing and he’d stabbed himself in the eye socket with the end of his pen; it was one of the nastiest feelings there was after actual torture.  
Of course, that wasn’t going to be accomplished. It was just a feeling—what would he ask for, even? _Hey, let’s lie on the floor together, not say anything, just look at the sunlight on the ceiling_. Not that Kip would turn him down, he just cringed at the thought of trying to articulate something so... specific and strangely harmless?  
That was another thing, he didn’t know how to treat Kip. On the one hand he was probably bored, not having anything to do. But Gaster hesitated to give him commands because he knew Kip was compelled to obey him and the thought made him uncomfortable. This entire situation was wrong and disgusting and yet there was nothing he could do about it. The presence of a Companion had been non-negotiable, probably because the humans wanted another way to control him and watch him.  
Perhaps Kip was loyal to the humans, even. Perhaps that was how he coped, he’d just accepted this as his lot in life and didn’t let it worry him. That seemed to fit him, Gaster thought, but he wasn’t sure. There was always a dizzying element of the unknown in another person’s life, you were never sure you were reading them correctly, and what if they couldn’t understand you either? Because you were terrible at articulating yourself or because they weren’t paying attention to the right things or just because people miss things sometimes and don’t realize it. How very easy it was to believe a lie without realizing it. People did it to each other all the time, and often both parties were unaware. It scared him. He wanted to bare his soul with every word he said so that at least he wouldn’t have those kinds of inaccuracies to deal with, but it didn’t work, he didn’t know how to talk right, and he just ended up sounding like an idiot and getting lost deeper and deeper in the tangle of interpersonal confusion where no one really knows anything other than themselves, if that.  
It would clear up a few things at least if Gaster could just get the courage to ask him what he wanted, well what he was actually comfortable with, but he could never formulate the question in his mind without panicking because it was so completely wrong and also uncomfortable and also, he’d have to phrase it in a way that left no doubt that Kip was free to answer as he chose. And yet still he’d probably give the correct answer. Whatever that was. He’d come up with something neutral which shunted all the responsibility back to Gaster and they’d be back where they started except that Gaster would be panicking because he’d tried to say something and as usual it hadn’t worked.  
That was the thing though, again, he couldn’t _know_ until he tried it.  
He was just going to look like a fool and Kip was going to think he was strange and he wouldn’t accomplish anything. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to do. What could he do to make the situation better, anyway? Not much. Maybe he was just trying to get Kip to like him, and that was the most ridiculous thought of all, that he could bribe genuine affection out of him with useless little gestures of kindliness, like training a beaten dog to fawn at your feet by giving it treats and keeping the stick in the corner.  
But it was true, wasn’t it, at least in part, and that was the most shameful thing of all, for he was oddly infatuated with his Companion, and he wanted to make him happy, somehow, or try, enough to let Kip know that he was trying. For whatever good that would do. God, he was becoming the exact stereotype of a creepy old official pestering a vacant-eyed Companion with unwanted gifts. He’d rather die, but he was afraid now that he wouldn’t even have the courage to die.

He was pacing around the sitting room, sunlight running up and down his body in long bars; meanwhile Kip had disappeared. That is to say, he hadn’t been there when Gaster came in, which made him happy for some odd reason. He’d started to wonder if Kip ever left the room. There was no reason for him to confine himself to only one room. Then again, it was a nice room.  
Gaster was entirely aware of his own hypocrisy, but he had excuses. Kip didn’t have any scientific fact-juggling to do, all he had to do was find a patch of sunlight and make himself comfortable. If he were doing that it was all fine, Gaster just hoped he wasn’t confining himself to the sitting room because it seemed appropriate, and waiting for something to happen with concealed anxiety. Probably not. That was a Gaster thing to do. Other people probably didn’t feel the way he did, probably, maybe. He hoped. That would be nice, for the other people.

...This was a bit odd, Kip knew they had agreed to finish a game of chess and he’d never failed to show up before. Gaster went downstairs, thinking he might be outside in the garden or in the sunroom, and noticed that Kip’s bedroom door stood slightly ajar, so he pushed it open. There was Kip, lying half-curled on the bed with his back to him, naked to the waist, the fading sunlight just reaching his skin. Gaster smiled. Kip really did love the sunlight.  
He wavered for a moment—he should probably just leave, but maybe Kip would prefer to be woken up? Was he even asleep? Gaster walked closer and stood looking down at him. No, he was asleep, whole body relaxed into that appearance of softness that made Gaster wonder if he had bones, or if he did where they were and why they weren’t more apparent. Maybe he just wasn’t used to seeing living physical musculature outside of textbooks. He wanted to poke it—roll the muscles around, see if he could feel where they connected. Except no he didn’t, that would be insulting and probably uncomfortable for Kip.

He looked so peaceful Gaster wished he were sleeping somewhere else, far away from the Republic, maybe in another country. There were plenty of places in the world where he could curl up in the winter sun without having to worry about an ongoing genocide. Surely, with just a few twists of fate, he could have been somewhere else now, maybe on a friend’s couch in the wheat-golden lowlands far away, sleepily competing for space with a luxuriantly obese cat. And then Gaster wondered if he really wanted that, because it would mean they had never met, and wasn’t he too selfish?

He shook the thought off and admired the soft curves of his fire-magic-flesh-body. His flames wavered lazily over the bedspread as a gentle warm-amber glow pulsed through his exposed skin(fire?). His hands were tucked close to his face, like a kitten’s.

How strange, to think that in the eyes of the law he owned this.

The thought sickened him. He could never own Kip. He could never own anyone, not truly, it was both a moral and philosophical impossibility to claim total ownership of a separate autonomous existence.  
Especially if that existence was Kip.  
See, you’re acting infatuated. It’s disgusting.

The light was fading. Wouldn’t he be cold like that? With hesitation, Gaster touched his upper arm, and thought it felt cooler than usual. Not that he had an extensive frame of reference. Kip’s shirt was draped over the desk chair, he took it and tucked it over the slumbering body, as gently as he could, trying not to wake him. That would help a little.

Gaster covered the tattoo on the back of Kip’s neck with a fold of the shirt and tried to imagine him somewhere far away, safe, without him.

**Author's Note:**

> Affiliated story: [Snowflower]()


End file.
